Ice in my Veins
by Saiyuri of the Red Shadow
Summary: It started with a dinner plate. (It started when Cam died)


It started with a dinner plate.

(It started when Cam died)

He'd been washing dishes, it was always his chore, even before Camden enlisted. He'd wash, Cam would dry, and dad would put them up and send the boys to bed.

(Some days doing all three makes him want to cry)

The energy in the Lahey house had been especially tense. Isaac felt like he was walking on eggshells more so than usual. It felt as though his heart had turned to lead and sank down further and further with each passing second. The only thing that seems to adequately describe it is what all deer must feel like when they're staring into the headlights of a semi.

But he washed. And dried. And placed.

(And tried not to fall apart)

But the plate slipped somewhere between the sink and the cabinet, taking with it his final hopes for a peaceful evening.

(As if peace was even an option anymore)

Time seems to slow as it falls, a perfect smooth curve, just out of his grasp. Nothing like the jagged edges of loss or the loneliness that eats at his heart. Just clinical precision until it shatters on the ground and time rushes forward again. He expects shouting. When he crouches down to grab as many of the shards as he can he expects to hear something anything. A hard remark about his uselessness, a yell berating his intelligent. His hearts beating so fast he doesn't even feel the ceramic cutting into his fingers until the whole plate is in the trash.

(The smallest bits are still in his bloodied fingers)

He stands stock still in front of the sink. He's not quite sure what to do. He hasn't been dismissed yet. At the same time Isaac doesn't look at his father it seems to pointless to look his father in the eyes, he won't find pity there. He wouldn't deserve it anyway. This was his own fault.

Before he can even blink his father's hand fists his hair and he is dragged downstairs.

"Dad! Dad?!"

His father does not respond only shoves him into the deep freeze. Locks it and leaves.

(**letmeoutletmeoutletmeoutletmeoutletmeoutletmeoutle tmeoutletmeoutletmeoutletmeoutletmeoutletmeoutletm eoutletmeoutletmeoutletmeoutletmeout****etmeout****etmeout****etmeout****etmeout****etmeout****etmeout****etmeout****etmeout****etmeout**)

* * *

He must pass out because when he comes to he's in his bed and the sun is just barely rising. His fingers are throbbing and his fists are bruised. He tries not to think to hard about what that might mean. He wants to put this night behind him, hopefully it's the last of it's kind.

(It's not)

* * *

He thinks about Cam a lot. It makes things easies to live in the past. He can sit and pretend that he's still there, teasing him, helping him with his homework, making him study for tests.

(Keeping his father happy)

It's easier to live in the past than to face the present. Living Life on auto-pilot isn't as bad as Isaac thought it'd be. It's almost relaxing to think of life before things went bad. He has mom and dad and Cam and things are okay. He doesn't have to deal with the stranger berating him across the table, throwing plates and glasses and chairs at him, leaving bruises and breaking bones, locking him down in the-

* * *

(Mom's laugh was always his favorite sound. She was always so soft spoken and quiet but when she laughed it shook her whole body and filled up every room in the house. She'd laugh until all the air left her and panted with the biggest smile on her face and her eyes bright and cheerful. It's easy to imagine her laughter when the calm fades. It's better to see her smile in his mind when he's shoved down the stairs and screaming)

* * *

No! No! Dad please! Please don't put me down there again I promise I won't do it again! I swear I'll be better please! Please! I didn't mean to spill it. I'll clean it up! I'll get better grades I'll do better! I'll be better!

(I'll be just like Cam)

Don't do this! Please don't do this please!

.

.

.

.

.

.

.

.

.

please...

* * *

He screams and punches and claws and struggles against the frosted confines of his prison. It's been longer than usual. It's been at least and hour and he's so cold. He keeps hoping that his dad will come down and let him out. Tell him that this was his fault, that he shouldn't keep making him do this to him, that he should just be better like usual then send him to bed.

But he doesn't come.

His entire body is cold and sore and he's fought as hard as he could against the cold metal walls but he's still trapped and cold. His knuckles are bruised and bleeding. His back is stiff and his eyes are getting heavier and heavier. His thoughts are slowing down from their frantic to pace to something close to normal.

Isaac realizes that he might die.

His father could leave him down hear forever and never come to get him. That thought makes him unbelievably. He wants him to haul him out and scold him. To make him wash the dishes. To yell at him when he gets a bad grade. He wants him to care enough to keep him from dying down here. To keep him from being alone. His father is all he has left. He's all his father has left. He doesn't even want to think of how he'd be alone.

But the cold sinks into his bones and quiets his thoughts until he loses consciousness.

* * *

(He sees Cam and Mom again and it's beautiful. They look so happy to see him. He tells them how much he misses them. How much he needs them back. His mother kisses him and ruffles his hair. Cam gives him the biggest hug he's ever gotten.

He says he's sorry.)

* * *

When he wakes up he's on the living room floor, a blanket carelessly thrown over him, he's still freezing but too weak to shiver anymore. The cold oozes through his veins and makes the world seem soft at the edges. Far.

"Isaac."

He doesn't respond to lost to react. His vision starts to blur and he must be talking because his father moves down closer to him. His pulse must be weak because he grimaces after pulling away. He looks like he's a cross between irritated and outraged. Neither of which are good signs. Isaac panics.

"'on't"

"What Isaac?"

"'on't l-let"

"Isaac? Isaac?!"

(Please don't let me die)

He passes out again.

* * *

(Seeing Camden off at the gate shouldn't be this hard. Isaac's a big boy now. He shouldn't cry. He should be brave and stoic. But Cam is crying too. He promises to wrote and call whenever he can. Promises that he'll be just fine and he'll come home soon and help him practice for lacrosse. Promises he'll help him with home work. That he'll take him out for late night drives to nowhere and teach him how to fix a car. They'll drink milkshakes at the diner on the edge of town and stay up all night stargazing at the edge of town.

With tears streaming down his face he hugs Isaac tightly and asks him to take care of their father.

Isaac swears he will no matter what.)

* * *

If he was really honest he'd admit it started when mom left.

("Duncan I can't do this anymore." He looks like his world is falling apart. Isaac can't remember ever seeing his father cry. But he's crying now.

"Please, Meghan, Let's talk about this. In the morning. It's late and-

"No. Duncan no. I can't do it anymore. You're out of control. You can't keep treating me the way that you do without consequences. I'm leaving; the divorce papers will be in the mail by Monday morning."

And just like that she's gone.)

* * *

Meghan Lahey loved her children dearly. She knew that despite all his flaws the only one who could love them just as much was their father. She knew he'd keep them safe and happy. That he'd **never** hurt them the way he hurt her.

* * *

(She was wrong)

* * *

The next time Isaac wakes up he's in bed. The cold that settled into his veins is slowly forced out by a burning fever that seems to scald his very soul. He is thirsty and tired and in utter agony. He didn't think he could feel this badly ever. His chest feels like it's on fire and each and every breath feels like a punishment. He can't help but wonder if this is hell. That this is his penance for surviving while Cam died. For having his mother's face. For doing poorly in school. For being a bench warmer.

For being a failure.

A cold hand presses against his forehead pulling a sigh of relief that turns into a storm of shaky coughs.

His mouth tastes like blood.

* * *

Isaac tries really hard to be a good son. To not make waves at school. To get good grades. But somehow it's never enough. Somehow he's always making his dad angry even though he knows way better than that. He knows that he's all he has left yet he continues to make trouble. Breaking plates? Getting C's? Falling asleep in class. Isaac knows better. He knows he shouldn't make his dad so angry all the time, it's bad for his health. And if he dies what is Isaac but...

...alone

* * *

He isn't getting better. Isaac is less and less lucid everyday. He's losing weight and getting paler and his father knows what he should do but can't bring himself to actually do it. He's weighed the pros and cons of just putting him back down in the basement until nature runs its course as opposed to taking him to the hospital. Either choice could land him in prison the hospital and the police would probably have a few things to say about Isaac's condition.

He knows they won't understand why these things need to be done. Why a child needs to be disciplined. They'll cry abuse and shame him even though they've never lived with willful child so ungrateful for his lot that he constantly challenges his father's authority. They'll never have to act with loves sharp edge on their side to cut off the unruly behavior.

They'll never know how hard it is for him to make the tough calls. To actually punish his son for his misbehavior.

But he can't stand the thought of losing Isaac to death. Not like the others.

* * *

When Isaac wakes up again it is night. He's in a bed that's not his own and his head feels like it's been run over by a semi. But the burn has subsided and the cold is left as a reminder. He shivers against the chill that seems to live in his bones. His chest aches in protest of the movement but it's duller than it was before. It doesn't hurt as much to breath and when he coughs it doesn't taste like blood anymore. He feels better but there's heavy feeling settling in his body. Almost like the anticipation before his father strikes him but different.

He doesn't have time to dwell on it though because a nurse is all in his face checking his vital and shining a light in each of his eyes.

"You gave us quite a scare there Isaac." She says gently, carefully checking his I.V.'s and feeding tube.

"What's wrong with me?" He rasped out, throat sore and voice weak from disuse. She presses a cup of cool water to his lips before she answers and he drinks it down gratefully.

"You had hypothermia and a nasty case of pneumonia."

"So I'm better now?" Her lips curve down into a frown and she grabs his chart from the foot of the bed.

"You've been on anti-biotics for the past few days but the doctor probably won't want you off for a few more days yet. This is also the first day you've been fully conscious so we'll need to monitor you to make sure the fever didn't damage your brain in any way. How is your chest feeling?"

"Better. Breathing doesn't hurt as much." She nods, making a note on his chart.

"Do you think you'll be able to eat?" His stomach grumbles at the mention of food. She smiles down at him,"I'm guessing that's a yes. I'll make sure they start you off light."

"Thank you..." Her heart melts for him just a little more as she touches his hand.

"It's nothing sweetheart."

* * *

When Melissa Mcall first sees Isaac Lahey on her rounds it makes her blood run cold. He's pale and underweight and feverish. It makes her think of her Scott. They're the same age and she couldn't imagine how she'd feel if it were Scott in that bed. Groaning in his sleep and crying so quietly. She's been at this long enough. She knows what abuse looks like. She's seen the handprints on his chest and arms, the purpling bruises around his wrists, the yellowed marrks on his back.

Not to mention the hypothermia in the middle of a California summer. Then pneumonia?

She didn't like it not one bit.

So when she talks to the man in the hallway. Her words are an equal measure:

Sound Advice

Concerned Threats

And a Promise

(If he knows what's good for him)

* * *

There's long period of peace after Isaac comes home from the hospital. His father speaks to him softly and doesn't scold him quite as much. He doesn't hit him or yell, or even touch him too roughly. It's almost like he's afraid of breaking him he's so careful. Isaac can't help but feel disconcerted by the sudden change. He's more on edge than ever because he knows it can't last.

He's more terrified than ever.

His father almost let him die. There's no going back. No fixing it. He can't just act like this stranger and make it alright.

But when he speaks he's so gentle and he looks so hurt when Isaac flinches away from him when he reaches over to touch him. The look of terror in his son's eyes seem to cause him pain. Like he can't piece together why his son is so afraid. But he stays soft and gentle and kind. Even insisting that Isaac not do any chores until he's feeling well enough to go back to school.

* * *

Isaac wishes he would just hit him. Punch him, kick him, whatever. It's nerve wracking, the wait. He knows something is coming, that this is just a lull in the storm. It's been going on for too long. He has too many bruises, to many scars, to many nightmares.

It isn't over yet. And that's what scares him the most.

* * *

He's finally back in school again when it starts up again.

("Why are your grades so low?")

He tries not to think about it too much.

("Do you ever do anything right? Jesus.")

But it keeps going and building.

("Why did I have to get stuck with a fuck up like you?")

And it's hard to push it to the back of his mind when it just keeps coming.

("Don't you have any friends at that school of yours?")

("Are they all as dumb as you?")

("When are you gonna start pulling your own weight around here?")

* * *

He doesn't get a break.

* * *

Isaac has trouble sleeping most nights. He can't calm down enough when he hears the sound of his father's footsteps echoing through the house. When he knows he's been drinking it's especially bad. Glasses and bottle have been thrown in the past. He's been dragged out of his bed and stuffed into the closet with only drunken screaming to fill his ears.

Even now in all of this peace the fear still tugs at his heart.

(His father is monster because of him)

* * *

(nonononononononononononononononononononononononon ononononononononononononononononononononononononon ononononononononononononononononononononononononon ononononononononononononononononononononononononon ononononononononononononononononononononononononon ononononononononononononononononononononononononon ononononononononononononononononononononononononon ononononononononononononononononononononononononon ononononononononononononononononononononononononon ononono)

* * *

His dad its him again for the first time in almost a month. The feeling of relief that crashes over him makes him feel sick.

But he is relieved.

(Routine is restored)

* * *

(NoNoNoNoNoNoNoNoNoNoNoNoNoNoNoNoNoNoNoNoNoNoNoNoN oNoNoNoNoNoNoNoNoNoNoNoNoNoNoNoNoNoNoNoNoNoNoNoNoN oNoNoNoNoNoNoNoNoNoNoNoNoNoNoNoNoNoNoNoNoNoNoNoNoN oNoNoNoNoNoNoNoNoNoNoNoNoNoNoNoNoNoNoNoNoNoNoNoNoN oNoNoNoNoNoNoNoNoNoNoNoNoNoNoNoNoNoNoNoNoNoNoNoNoN oNoNoNoNoNoNoNoNoNoNoNoNoNoNoNoNoNoNoNoNoNoNoNoNoN oNoNoNoNoNoNoNoNoNoNoNoNoNoNoNoNoNoNoNoNoNoNoNoNoN oNoNoNoNoNoNoNoNoNoNoNoNoNoNoNoNoNoNoNoNoNoNoNoNoN oNoNoNoNoNoNoNoNoNoNoNoNoNoNoNoNoNoNoNoNoNoNoNoNoN oNoNoNoNoNoNoNoNoNoNoNoNoNoNoNoNoNoNoNoNoNoNoNoNoN oNoNoNoNoNoNoNoNoNoNoNoNoNoNoNoNoNoNoNoNoNoNoNoNoN oNoNoNoNoNoNoNoNoNoNoNoNoNoNoNoNoNoNoNoNoNoNoNoNoN oNoNoNoNoNoNoNoNoNoNoNoNoNoNoNoNoNoNoNoNoNoNoNoNoN oNoNoNoNoNoNoNoNoNoNoNoNoNoNoNoNoNoNoNoNoNoNoNoNoN oNoNoNoNoNoNoNoNoNoNoNoNoNoNoNoNoNoNoNoNoNoNoNoNoN oNoNoNoNoNoNoNoNoNoNoNoNoNoNoNoNoNoNoNoNoNoNoNoNoN oNoNoNoNoNoNoNoNoNoNoNoNoNoNoNoNoNoNoNoNoNoNoNoNoN oNoNoNoNoNoNoNoNoNoNoNoNoNoNoNoNoNoNoNoNoNoNoNoNoN oNoNoNoNoNoNoNoNoNoNoNoNoNoNoNoNoNoNoNoNoNoNoNoNoN oNoNoNoNoNoNoNoNoNoNoNoNoNoNoNoNoNoNoNoNoNoNoNoNoN oNoNoNoNoNoNoNoNoNoNoNoNoNoNoNoNoNoNoNoNoNoNoNoNoN oNoNoNoNoNoNoNoNoNoNoNoNoNoNoNoNoNoNoNoNoNoNoNoNoN oNoNoNoNoNoNoNoNoNoNoNoNoNoNoNoNoNoNoNoNoNoNoNoNoN oNoNoNoNoNoNoNoNoNoNoNoNoNoNoNoNoNoNoNoNoNoNoNoNoN oNoNoNoNoNoNoNoNoNoNoNoNoNoNoNoNoNoNoNoNoNoNoNoNoN oNoNoNoNoNoNoNoNoNoNoNoNoNoNoNoNoNoNoNoNoNoNoNoNoN oNoNoNoNoNoNoNoNoNoNoNoNoNoNoNoNoNoNoNoNoNoNoNoNoN oNoNoNoNoNoNoNoNoNoNoNoNoNoNoNoNoNoNoNoNoNoNoNoNoN oNoNoNoNoNoNoNoNoNoNoNoNoNoNoNoNoNoNoNoNoNoNoNoNoN oNoNoNoNoNoNoNoNoNoNoNoNoNoNoNoNoNoNoNoNoNoNoNoNoN oNoNoNoNoNoNoNoNoNoNo)

* * *

Getting your ass kicked on a near daily basis takes some getting used to. There are unwritten rules to make the beating last much less time than it could. The first rule is never fight back. They say the nail that sticks up is the one that gets hammered down and that's never more true than when you dad has his hands wrapped around your neck and you can't breatheyoucan'tbreatheyoucan'tbreatheyoucan'tbreat heyoucan'tbreathe.

Don't flail or struggle. Don't try to punch him, or kick, or do anything that'll land you in the—

(nonononononononononononononononononononononononon o nonononononono)

The second is stay loose and relaxed. Being tense could translate as defiance. You want to seem as submissive as possible when dealing with your father. Let hime him hit you as hard as he likes. Stay calm and cool, it'll all be over soon.

The third rule is cry. That's right bitch cry. Cry beg, apologize This is your fault anyway. Your dad is a good man, what the hell is wrong with you? Why else would he beat you if it wasn't your fault? He used to be a swim coach for Christ sake what kind of swim coach beats his kid for no reason?

Which leads us to the final rule. It's always your fault. It's never not your fault.

Dropped a plate? You deserved it.

Got a bad grade? You deserved it.

Didn't finish your chores on time? You deserved it.

Did nothing at all? You still fucking deserved it.

He pays all the bills. He feeds you. Clothes you. Who told you you could do nothing Isaac? Huh? Who fucking lied to you?

Maybe if you weren't such a failure, such a fucking disappointment this shit wouldn't happen. Maybe if you did less nothing then it wouldn't be so bad. Isaac? Isaac are you crying? I swear to God if you're fucking crying Isaac! Do you want to take this chat downstairs? You look like you need to cool off, son.

* * *

(NONONONONONONONONONONONONONONONONONONONONONONONON ONONONONONONONONONONONONONONONONONONONONONONONONON ONONONONONONONONONONONONONONONONONONONONONONONONON ONONONONONONONONONONONONONONONONONONONONONONONONON ONONONONONONONONONONONONONONONONONONONONONONONONON ONONONONONONONONONONONONONONONONONONONONONONONONON ONONONONONONONONONONONONONONONONONONONONONONONONON ONONONONONONONONONONONONONONONONONONONONONONONONON ONONONONONONONONONONONONONONONONONONONONONONONONON ONONONONONONONONONONONONONONONONONONONONONONONONON ONONONONONONONONONONONONONONONONONONONONONONONONON ONONONONONONONONONONONONONONONONONONONONONONONONON ONONONONONONONONONONONONONONONONONONONONONONONONON ONONONONONONONONONONONONONONONONONONONONONONONONON ONONONONONONONONONONONONONONONONONONONONONONONONON ONONONONONONONONONONONONONONONONONONONONONONONONON ONONONONONONONONONONONONONONONONONONONONONONONONON ONONONONONONONONONONONONONONONONONONONONONONONONON ONONONONONONONONONONONONONONONONONONONONONONONONON ONONONONONONONONONONONONONONONONONONONONONONONONON ONONONONONONONONONONONONONONONONONONONONONONONONON ONONONONONONONONONONONONONONONONONONONONONONONONON ONONONONONONONONONONONONONONONONONONONONONONONONON ONONONONONONONONONONONONONONONONONONONONONONONONON ONONONONONONONONONONONONONONONONONONONONONONONONON ONONONONONONONONONONONONONONONONONONONONONONONONON ONONONONONONONONONONONONONONONONONONONONONONONONON ONONONONONONONONONONONONONONONONONONONONONONONONON ONONONONONONONONONONONONONONONONONONONONONONONONON ONONONONONONONONONONONONONONONONONONONONONONONONON ONONONONONONONONONONONONONONONONONONONONONONONONON ONONONONONONONONONONONONONONONONONONONONONONONONON ONONONONONONONONONONONONONONONONONONONONONONONONON ONONONONONONONONONONONONONONONONONONONONONONONONON —

I'm sorry...)

* * *

He doesn't want to die. He doesn't want to die. He just wants his dad to finish beating him. To finish yelling at him so he can crawl to his bed and sleep. He doesn't want his dad to kill him. He doesn't. He's sorry for whatever he did or didn't do. He didn't mean to upset him.

(It's so cold)

But the chill is in his bones again and deep freeze groans and he is afraid.

(He is terrified)

The tears spilling down his face seem to freeze as they fall and he is worried that this really is the end.

But the freeze groans as the power source is cut off. Over the din of his own thoughts he can almost hear his father wish him a good night. A part of him is grateful. A part of him says," I love you, dad. Thank you."

(The rest is still screaming)


End file.
